


Golden Hour

by reysrose



Series: Saturn [6]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: 1000 pushups, Birthdays, Blood and Injury, Head Injury, Jake and Rosa centric, Major Character Injury, Multi, Sex, Stabbing, breakroom naps, guy's night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24063298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reysrose/pseuds/reysrose
Summary: 4 moments between Rosa and Jake: A bar, a nap, a birthday, an injury. Amy watches, intervenes, and loves them both fiercely.
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago, Rosa Diaz/Amy Santiago, Rosa Diaz/Jake Peralta, Rosa Diaz/Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago
Series: Saturn [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724032
Comments: 3
Kudos: 70





	Golden Hour

**Author's Note:**

> There is a lot of badly translated Spanish in this one, specifically in part 3   
> "Hijo de puta:" Son of a bitch/motherfucker  
> Estupido pedazo de mierda!: Stupid piece of shit   
>  Madre de Cristo, que desastre: Mother of Christ what a disaster  
> “Ni por todo el dinero del mundo: Not for all the money in the world.

1.  
“Guys night,” Rosa says, sitting on the corner of his desk and handing him a can of orange soda. He looks up from the case file he is distinctly not working on and raises an eyebrow.

“Come again?”

“Guys night,” Rosa repeats, rolling her eyes at him like he’s the dumbest bitch alive, “Santiago is working a double. We’re having guys' night.”

“Does guy’s night involve other guys or is it just an us event?” He asks, looking up at her. Her teeth are bared in the smirk she reserves for sex and going shot for shot with Terry. 

“Why not both?” She drawls, raising a single eyebrow. He gets a little shivery when she does that.

“God I love you,” he whispers. Rosa snaps her teeth at him and waltzes away, swinging her hips juuuust enough to make her ass look great. 

“I am very attracted to you right now,” he yells across the bullpen, eyes glued on Rosa’s ass as she walks into the breakroom. His phone buzzes with a text that’s just Rosa sending him a solid 7 eggplant emojis. 

Guys’ night begins with Shaw’s, like it generally does when Rosa and Amy are working, except that Rosa immediately orders a round of vodka shots and pounds one, raising her eyebrows at the rest of them.

“Well? You gonna catch up or what?” 

Vodka dulls him just enough to get more handsy than he normally would in public, and Rosa’s bare skin in front of him does not help, at all. She’s shed her jacket and she’s in a muscle tank with her jeans instead of her work shirt, biceps flexing every time she checks her phone, or lifts her glass, or holds a hand up to get another round. He slips his arm around her waist real low, squeezing her ass. Rosa leans into him, warm from the alcohol flush, and turns her head to catch his mouth with hers. The kiss is sloppy from the offset, and Rosa opens her mouth to him and lets Jake slide his tongue in. She whimpers, one hand reaching up to scratch at the base of his skull, nails running through the baby hairs on his neck. She’s soft against him, willingly pressing against his body as closely as she can with a shudder and he can taste coconut rum on her tongue. 

She pulls away from him with a soft moan, pressing their foreheads together. Charles wolf whistles and Rosa flips him the bird, curling into Jake’s body heat. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Jake murmurs, grazing his teeth over the shell of her ear. Rosa shudders, hips pressing against his with sharp intent. 

They make out in the cab on the way home, Rosa’s hand sliding up his button down and her sharp nails raking across his chest. She presses him up against the door of their apartment, biting at his neck, and he wraps his hand in her hair and he tugs sharply, her head falling back. 

“Let’s get in the apartment first,” he growls in her ear, opening the door and pushing her up against it to close it. Rosa wraps one leg around his waist as he tilts his hips into her, gasping when he sucks a hickey into his neck.

Neither of them will last long, not this drunk and sleepy and warm already just from making out. He undoes her button and lowers her zipper, pressing his fingers to her clit through the lace of her underwear. Rosa shudders, exposing more of her throat for him to bite at. She’s already wet through the fabric, and he slides them to the side to test her with a finger. She stretches nicely, quivering around him when he pushes at her walls. 

“Just fuck me, dammit,” she snarls, “and hard.”

He slides into her the way she likes, hard and all at once. She wails with it, heel of her boot digging into his ass as he thrusts. Her lips find his in a sloppy kiss that’s mostly open mouthed gasp, whimpering against his gritted teeth.

“Touch me,” she gasps, “Jake-” 

He slides a hand between them and rolls her clit between two of her fingers, pinching at it a little until she’s coming on his cock with another sharp wailing sound, head falling forward and cheek pressing to his collarbone. He kisses the crown of her head as he finishes up and they both stagger to the bathroom to get cleaned up. 

After they fall into bed, both naked save for underwear, Jake curls around her and kisses her forehead.

“Have fun?” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep and vodka.

Rosa nods, kissing his collarbone. 

“So much fun. 

2.  
“When was the last time you slept?”

Rosa rolls her head up toward the voice, feeling her skull wobble on her neck with fatigue. Jake is leaning against the corner of her desk, a mug in his hand. Rosa whimpers, extending her own hand for it. Jake draws it away, pushing his hand into her tangled curls and cupping the side of her head. Rosa sighs. 

“You need a nap, not more coffee. Now you gonna tell me the last time you slept or do I need to ask the Captain?”

“Dunno,” she says, trying desperately to ignore how much it sounds like she’s slurring. It’s been at least 36 hours, possibly longer. She’s not sure if it’s still Wednesday or not, leaning into Jake’s hand on her scalp. 

“You didn’t come home last night so it’s definitely been over 24 hours, love,” he murmurs. Rosa nods tiredly, tapping her nails on her desk to keep herself awake a little longer. Her case file blurs in front of her vision, and then she feels Jake slide her pen out of her hand and place it in the cup with the rest of them. 

“Up,” he tells her, looping his arms under her armpits. Rosa lets him, yawning so wide she feels her jaw snap at the joint a little. She slumps into his embrace, resting her head in the crook between his neck and shoulder. Normally, PDA is not something she readily engages in in the bullpen, but she’s so tired her teeth hurt and her head is swirling in circles. Jake rubs her back absently, cupping the back of her neck and squeezing.

“Come on,” he whispers, “Amy is getting you some breakfast down the road, you’re gonna nap, and then I’ll make sure you get home safe during my break.” 

Rosa nods sluggishly, following him to the break room. He sits down on the couch and pats his thigh, and Rosa submits. She lays down on the couch and puts her head in his lap, rubbing her cheek against the coarse fabric of his jeans. Jake’s hand goes back to her scalp and he scratches at it. 

“You don’t have to take me home,” she mumbles into his pants, bringing one hand up to tangle in his shirttails, “I can just go back to the case after my nap.”

“Nope,” Jake says, even when she rolls her eyes at him from his lap, “You’re going home and sleeping until at least tomorrow morning, maybe longer. Holt signed off on it.”

“I’m not a baby,” Rosa grumbles, “I don’t need to be coddled.”

“You’re not,” Jake concedes, “You’re a terrifying badass detective, but you’re also exhausted and sleep deprived and you know you get bad when you don’t sleep.” 

She shrugs, because he’s right, and closes her eyes. When she opens them next it’s because Amy is pulling her to sitting, handing her a breakfast sandwich. 

“Eat slow,” Amy coos, brushing a snarl of black curls back from her face, “I know you haven’t been doing that either.”

“Bold assumption,” Rosa grunts around a mouthful of egg and cheese, “I ate last night!” 

“What did you eat?”

“Sour straws I took from Jake’s desk. Where is Jake?”

“He went to make sure he has all his stuff so he can sit with you while you nap.”

“He doesn’t have to do that,” she says, choking a little on a too-big bite of bodega sandwich, “I can just nap. I’m a grown adult woman.”

“Just let him,” Amy scoffs, sitting next to Rosa and resting her head on Rosa’s shoulder as she chews and swallows like she’s never eaten before, “He didn’t sleep well last night without you. He worries.”

Rosa snorts and Amy squeezes her wrist gently.

“I worry too, baby,” Amy says.

“I’ll let him sit with me, I guess,” Rosa says, trying to hide her growing smile. Amy takes the foil from her hand and hands her a water bottle, watching her as she takes at least enough sips to keep herself from waking up with a pounding headache. Amy tugs her to lay down in her arms, kissing her forehead.

“Ew, PDA,” Rosa slurs. Her stomach is full and Amy has managed to cover her with a blanket Rosa didn’t notice until it’s draped over her. She shrugs out of her jacket and Amy takes it, methodically starting to braid back the tangled curls around her face. Rosa lets herself whine tiredly.

When she wakes up it’s to Jake shaking her shoulder. Her boots are off, and she can feel a tacky trail of drool down her cheek that she wipes away with the back of her hand. 

“It’s my lunch break. Let’s go, coma patient, time for bed.”

She’s asleep again before Jake even starts the car. 

3.  
“Hijo de PUTA!” Rosa yelps, dragging her hand away from the stove as the smell of scorched sugar fills their little kitchen. Jake looks up from the kitchen table where he’s signing Amy’s birthday card.

“You burn yourself or you just pissed?”

“Fuckin- both. Estupido pedazo de mierda!” 

Jake shoves his hand in the oven mitt and throws the now burned flan pan in the sink, grabbing Rosa’s wrist and turning on cool water. He sticks her burnt fingers under the stream and leans against the counter, staring at the flan recipe. It seems simple enough, but Rosa has burnt the pan caramelization three times and she’s starting to lose all patience. The ropa vieja is simmering, and he’s seen her make maduros a million times. The flan though? They’ve never had success with flan.

“We can just go get some at that restaurant Victor took us to a couple months ago.”

“It’s in Manhattan,” Rosa snarls, “Do you really want to go to Manhattan on a Saturday?”

“Valid point.” 

Rosa starts to scrub the sugar out of the pan, again. Jake kisses her sweaty forehead and pulls her hair into a ponytail to get it off her neck. She groans, drying the pan and slamming it down on the countertop.

“Camila makes it look so fucking easy,” Rosa snarls, “every time. The one time we try to make it, it’s a fucking disaster. Madre de Cristo, que desastre. Let’s try this shit again.

The sugar doesn’t burn this time, but the bain marie gets fucked. Rosa curses so fluently in Spanish Jake gets a little turned on, if he’s honest, yanking liquid custard out of the oven and dumping the pan in the sink again. 

“Ni por todo el dinero del mundo,” she mutters, “Can you watch the pot?”

“Why?” 

“I’m going to Manhattan,” Rosa snarls, stomping into the bedroom and coming out with her helmet and Docs in her hand. She ties them and slides the helmet on, grabbing her motorcycle keys.

“If Amy gets home before I do, stall, Peralta.”

“How?” he yelps, lifting the lid of the pot. Rosa glares at him, tilting her head at the lid until he drops it.

“Use your manly charms.” 

Rosa beats Amy home by about 5 minutes, windswept and rain-soaked from riding her bike in New York in February. Her exposed skin is freezing, and he rubs some heat back into her fingers as she pulls a flan from her bag with a victorious smirk. 

“Is it coconut?” He asks, leaning in to kiss her.

“You know it. I’m not a complete idiot.” 

He’s helping her slice plantains when Amy comes home, sliding her boots off and shedding her coat.

“AYYYY!” Rosa yells, throwing her hands in the air with the knife still in it.

“Jesus Christ, Rosa!” he yelps, “Careful with the sharp objects.” He sets down his knife and kisses his wife on the cheek.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he murmurs to Amy. She beams, slapping Rosa’s ass before leaning against the sink.

“Is that ropa vieja? oh mi encantadora esposa, eres la mejor jodida.” 

“I try my best,” Rosa grins.

Amy doesn’t even stop to breathe as she crams Cuban food in her mouth, groaning about how good it is. Rosa grins across the table at him, spearing a chunk of beef with her fork and shoving it in her mouth. 

“Okay,” Rosa says, pouring Amy some more wine, “So, we tried to make Camila’s flan. We...failed miserably. So we went to that place in Manhattan and got it.” 

“I’m honestly just proud of you for trying,” Amy says. She takes a bite of the flan and whimpers, swallowing her mouthful before leaning over to kiss Rosa, a little too lewdly for Jake to not get hot behind the ears. He takes a bite of his flan, leaning in to let Amy kiss the caramel off his tongue.

The flan gets left on the kitchen table as they stumble to the couch, hands everywhere and mouths swapping from person to person. He ends up pushing into Rosa as she whimpers into Amy’s cunt, Amy straddling her face with her head thrown back, clutching one of Rosa’s sharp nailed hands to her bare breast. Amy cums first, making sure to roll off Rosa and come down toward him, kissing him as he fucks their wife a little too senseless and reaching down to roll Rosa’s clit between her nails. Rosa wails, comes, and takes him with her. 

At some point, Amy detangles herself from the pile of sweaty, fucked out bodies and grabs the rest of the flan and 3 forks, turning on What We Do In The Shadows and handing them each a fork.

“Feliz Cumpleanos, mi sol,” Rosa purrs in Amy’s ear, licking caramel off her fork. Jake kisses behind Amy’s ear, brushing a strand of pin straight black hair back from her collarbone.

“You’re both amazing, and I love you” Amy says, “even if you can’t make a flan for shit.”

“Do not tell Camila,” Rosa groans, “Please.”

“Oh, I’m telling her,” Amy cackles. Rosa pokes her with her flan fork. 

4.  
“I’m sorry,” Rosa gasps out, writhing on the floor of the nasty apartment building. Jake presses harder on the raw back of her head, shushing her. There’s a lot of blood. Like, a lot. The cinderblock Rosa had cracked her head on when she’d fallen is smeared with it, and there’s a growing pool beneath her head and another one expanding below her torso. Jake is torn between ripping her a new one and crying. 

“Don’t talk,” he tells her, staring from her head to the handle of the paring knife in her side, neatly slotted between two ribs. She chokes on a thick breath, one that tastes like metal. The pain is sharp and cutting, a driving hammer in her skull. She moans, trying to turn her head away from Jake as he increases the pressure. 

“Please,” she whimpers, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Easy, Rosa. The bus is on the way, so is backup.”

“Not,” Rosa grits her teeth and screams through them, “Not the uniforms. Not Amy-”

“I don’t know, Rosa,” Jake says sharply, grabbing her wrist and pinning it to the cement floor so she can’t pull the knife out of her side. She whines low in the back of her throat and then lets out a cry, sharp and piercing. Jake winces. 

“I’m sorry,” she pants again, “1000 pushups, I’ll do them-”

“Lay still,” he yelps at her, carefully straddling her thighs and sitting down on them to keep her from getting up. 

“The perp,” Rosa chokes out, a cough tearing through her. No blood comes into her mouth but she can still taste it, and tasting it is just as bad, “What-”

“I shot him,” Jake tells her, still keeping pressure on the back of her head.

“1000 pushups,” she whispers, trying to focus on Jake’s face as sirens start to cut through the static in her head and ratchet her headache up to a new, hellish level that has her retching. She whimpers, presses a bloody hand to his face. 

She should have waited for backup, but she was so antsy for the collar that she’d looked at Jake and said 1000 pushups and like an idiot he had trusted her. It could have been him lying in a slowly growing puddle of blood, gasping for breath around what is probably several broken ribs and a knife. Amy would miss him more if he died. It’s her fault, her fault he had to kill someone. If she had just waited for backup, none of this would have happened. 

“Rosa, I need you to focus.”

She screams, not through gritted teeth this time but mouth wide open. Jake is crying, and she’s crying, and maybe drowning in her own blood? She truly can’t tell. 

“Oh god. Rosa!”

Then Amy is there, stroking her cheeks, tears in her eyelashes. 

“I’m sorry,” she croaks again, coughing. Amy and Jake are talking over her furiously as other people poke and prod at her, an oxygen mask going over her face and giving her some relief from the boot crushing her ribcage. Then she’s moving, Jake running alongside her, trying to tell her something but she can’t hear it, she can’t hear anything.

“1000 pushups,” she whispers, feeling her fingers slip out of his. 

When she wakes up the pain is enough to have her jackknifing into what would be a seated position, if she wasn’t too weak to even get her shoulders off the bed. She digs the back of her head into the pillow and groans, biting her lip as hard as she can. 

“Easy,” Amy murmurs to her, and then her hand is wrapped around a pain pump and her finger is pressing down onto the button that gives her drugs. She lets out a huff of air, looking around her with eyes that kind of do not want to focus. She’s definitely concussed. 

“What’s the damage,” she rasps, pointing with a mostly limp hand at the water sitting on the bedside table. Amy spoons it into her mouth and it takes a couple seconds for Rosa to realize it’s ice chips. 

“Concussion, scalp laceration. Scalp laceration is actually much worse than the concussion. The paring knife in your side nicked some lung tissue but didn’t do anything beyond that. You broke some ribs, and your left collarbone.”

“Could have been worse,” Rosa mumbles, opening her mouth to accept more ice chips from Amy’s plastic spoon. 

“I’m mad at you,” Amy informs her, “whether it could have been worse or not.”

“Sorry, Sarge,” she slurs, narcotics taking over her tired brain.

“You never, ever do that shit to me again,” Amy says, voice hard, “Do not. I mean it, do not ever, ever use 1000 pushups as an excuse to go into a situation without backup again.”

“Ames, we thought it wasn’t that big a deal.”

“I don’t care,” Amy says thickly, “It was almost a very big deal. Do you know how much blood you were laying in?”

“I’m gonna go with lots,” Rosa mumbles. She’s fading fast from the drugs, but she still manages to reach for Amy’s hand and squeeze.

“If it makes you feel better,” Rosa slurs, letting the morphine slip through her veins and under her skin, “I owe Jake 1000 pushups.”

“And when you’re better,” Amy whispers, laying a cool cloth on her forehead, “I expect you to do them.” 

+1  
Rosa walks into the precinct with her arms raised, strutting in victory with Jake trailing behind her playing We Are The Champions on his phone. 

“I’m cleared!” Rosa yells, taking a bow when Terry whistles at her, “No more desk duty!”

“That’s my wife!” Jake yells. Amy rolls her eyes.

“You’re both a mess,” she murmurs, walking into Rosa’s arms and kissing her cheek, brushing a hand over the knotted scar tissue between two of her ribs. It was too close a call, and Amy never wants it to happen again. 

“Ah yes,” Jake says, “Are we at least hot messes?”

“Sure,” Amy says with an eye roll, leaning in again to kiss Rosa full on the mouth. Jake catcalls them.

“So,” she says, pulling away to see Rosa’s face, her kiss bitten lips and the scar in her eyebrow. God, but she loves her and Jake so much, “how about those 1000 pushup?”

“Fuck, I was hoping you forgot,” Rosa groans.

“Drop and give me 1000, Detective Diaz,” Amy smirks.


End file.
